Resolution
by LadyMaureen
Summary: Susan and TBag. Why TBag keeps coming back to Susan. Warning: Contains disturbing animal abuse.
1. Susan

He makes her skin crawl. An obscene parody of love. Sleeping with her at night, arms around her body while her wrists are securely tied. Secure, yes, she's tried slipping them … and they do not move.

She doesn't sleep. Her eyes are dry from staring at the wall. Trying to think of some way, any way, to save her children. At this point she would have given anything, including the body that he had groped so perfunctorily before cuddling -- to get her children away. Preferably with her, but oh God without her if that's what it took to make them safe. But he would never let them go.

He was strong; he was vicious. Her attempts to get the gun had been thwarted so easily.

That sick fake hand. What had he done to lose his hand? It's a weakness, Susan, she thought to herself. You can use it. What other weaknesses? He was crazy, of course. Doorknob-sucking crazy. A blind man could have seen her revulsion.

She had liked him before. Or was it just that he was a single man who appeared nice to her children? She had let him in. She had risked her family. Stupid bitch. It had been like a bolt of lightning, a kick in the teeth, when she had finally understood who he really was. What he really was.

And with him wrapped around her body like the snake he was, she couldn't even cry. He would pretend to comfort her -- oh God she would throw up -- or perhaps grow angry and hurt her. She couldn't take the risk. As long as he had her children she would do anything, be anything, so that man would not be alone with her children.

She would watch and wait, wait for her chance. Susan never doubted she had the will to kill him -- she only feared he would stop her before she could.


	2. TBag

T-Bag

He'd had a little bitch puppy once. A mutt he'd found.

Walll now … that wasn't quite true. He'd found it after he killed its momma with a shovel. No reason, really, 'cept it caught his attention.

Teddy was seven. He'd been walking home from school. That was when he still went to school, when people made him go.

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Later, his teachers had stopped reporting truancy and were silently grateful when he didn't show up. They were scared of him, he knew.

"Such cold eyes!"

"He hit that kid for no reason!"

"He broke the desk! How does a little kid like that break anything the size of a desk!"

Mrs. Owens knew he had a pocket knife, but she was afraid to say anything. He'd made sure she knew not to say anything.

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But on this cold afternoon, he was coming back from school. He crossed through an empty lot. Tromping through fallen leaves, liking the rich loamy smell of the ones that had started to rot.

A furtive movement caught his eyes. It was a dog, an ugly yaller one. No collar. She slunk across the lot, busily padding toward something he couldn't see. She wasn't paying any attention to him. Just for fun, he shuffled his feet loud in leaves, then stamped, adding a loud, "Hey!" for good measure.

He expected the dog to skedaddle, and it did startle. It looked at him, body crouched, movements appeasing. Teddy jumped forward. Again, it started, but didn't move away. Ears flattened, the dog whined.

Why didn't it run? Teddy wanted to see it run. Again, he jumped forward. It crouched, then uttered a yipping bark.

Teddy moved closer. It barked again, this time more strongly. Teddy grinned. He'd teach that ugly yaller dog who was boss.

He backed off a little, looking around. He'd seen a broken shovel lying on the ground here a couple of days ago. There it was. He picked it up by the intact handle, grimacing a little at the slimy-feeling wood. He poked toward the dog. It growled a little, still standing its ground. Teddy braced, then swung the shovel like a baseball bat -- straight at the dog's head. It tried to dodge, but failed. It squealed as the blow landed and then it fell.

He liked that sound. Maybe it would do it again. Teddy hit the dog lying on the ground. It kicked, feebly. Its snarl was weak. Teddy cocked his head, then decided to finish it. He hit the dog's skull three or four times before it broke. It made an interesting sound.

Teddy tossed the shovel down, then started to walk off. A rustling sound stopped him. What was that? Something moved behind the dog.

Wall now. That's why the dog didn't run. It had a pup!

Teddy reached toward the shovel, then changed his mind. John at school had a pup. It followed him around, and John seemed to like it.

He crouched, ignoring the bloody mess that had been the momma dog. He reached toward the small, fuzzy thing. It cowered and whined. Its eyes were open and it was moving pretty good, but he didn't know how old it was. Teddy grabbed for it, and it cried and tried to struggle. Teddy scooped it up. The pup was shaking. It tried to push away, its eyes wide. It was making frantic little growls and whimpers and whines.

"C'mon, dog," said Teddy, carrying his new acquisition. He looked it over carefully. Little bitch puppy, yaller like its momma.

The pup struggled all the way home. It hated his touch, that was clear as bells ringing. It tried to bite him once. Only once, and never dared to do it again. Not that it could move very well for a while afterward.

Teddy got frustrated. He could make it stay still by beating it -- but it didn't follow him around like John's pup. He couldn't threaten the thing, because it didn't understand threats. It lived for the moments when he walked away. Curled in fetal position, Teddy's pup would watch him go … sigh with relief … and die a little when he approached again. It wouldn't take food from him.

Finally, Teddy made a decision. He'd fix this.

He came home on Friday and went straight to where he'd tied her to the foundation of the house with a piece of rough rope. He sat down next to the dog. He picked her up and held her on his lap, next to his belly. It fought as usual, whining desperately. He let it struggle, cooping it up in thin arms. He held it for hours. When he had to do something, he carried it with him. He never let it go. He slept with it trapped within the circle of his arms; he ate and did his chores with the dog in his arms.

It tried to squirm free, at first continuously, and later, as it grew weaker, intermittently. It was weakening. Lack of food and water were sapping its small puppy strength. On Sunday morning, the pup was barely moving. Its nose was dry, its eyes dull. It hung in the circle of his arms like Mrs. White's mink throw.

Teddy took a sponge from the kitchen and soaked it with water. He tilted up the dog's nose. It submitted weakly. He inserted a corner of the sponge in the mouth of the little scrap of fur, then squeezed. It choked and sneezed, but some of the water went down its throat. He patted its little head, then did it again. The little tongue went out to the sponge, tentatively. He squeezed out a little more. Then he went to find something for it to eat. Almost tenderly, he fed the little thing some squished-up beans. It ate slowly. He gave her some more water.

Exhausted, she closed her eyes and slipped into unconsciousness.

When she woke again, the pup watched him.

Teddy gave her the sponge again. She drank passively.

Finally, Teddy put her down by his feet, then stood, watching her. She stood by his left foot, waiting. He turned and walked a few steps. She followed. He walked a little further. He looked down. There she was.

From that time on, she followed him around, sort of like John's dog. That lasted for about a week. Then she piddled on the bathroom floor, so Teddy broke her neck.

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Susan lies in his arms. She's not moving, but he can feel her resistance.

That's all right. He'll hold her until she breaks. Until she follows him like that pup did.


End file.
